¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
The sun is bright,--the air is clear,
¦¦¦ darting swallows soar and sing.
And from ¦¦¦ stately elms I hear
The bluebird prophesying Spring.
¦¦¦ blue you winding river flows,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ an outlet from the sky,
¦¦¦¦¦ waiting till the west-wind blows,
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ clouds at anchor lie.
All things ¦¦¦ new;--the buds, ¦¦¦ leaves,
That gild ¦¦¦ elm-tree's ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ crest,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the nest beneath the eaves;--
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ no birds in last year's nest!
All things rejoice in ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ love,
The fulness of ¦¦¦¦¦ delight!
¦¦¦ learn from the ¦¦¦¦ heavens above
The ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ tenderness of night.
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy ¦¦¦ youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of ¦¦¦ prime,
For ¦¦¦ it is not always May!
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
To ¦¦¦¦ good angel leave the rest;
¦¦¦ Time will teach ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest!
(Blackout of It is not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Love joins
Two hearts.
Swiftly
It starts.
Not found
In marts.
True love
Builds nests.
Endures
All tests.
Cares not
Protests.
8th place
Birds are chirping and singing,
little ones in their nests are swinging.
Some are red and some just flew,
one went right by you.
Flowers are now awakening,
their pretty colors will be breathtaking.
Love them in colors of white~pink~yellow and blue,
a pretty site as we walk around the zoo.
Did you hear the big yellow bee?
His buzzing sound fills me with glee.
Is he after this fresh morning dew?
Will he drink it or will he chew?
Spring is saying be in love,
just like the loving turtle dove.
This time of the year brings all new,
from every point of view.
My ears are like nests,
the thrill of sound,
surround sound of
so many worlds
the dove and the jay
the phoebe, the robin
…so many flocks
I don’t need to unlock
the meaning, it stirs
my soul, sends me
My ears are like nests,
beaks opening, my chest
heaving, relieving
the images of night
the -mares reprieving
the warbler, the wren
the skylarks, the sparrows
…so many flocks
In the Spring, to walk
upon the buoyant breath
of endless pines and oaks
to soak in the red breast
its soulful chest
rising and falling
My ears are like nests
the trill of sounds
awakening, stirring
the crown, rejoicing
in hope, succoring
sparrows spare...ow's...
with their
wing-s-eyes for full-light...
and...
bird brain differ-andt-says...
that their spe-sees well
past human percept-shuns...
so that...
their ups-downs and spirals spun...
show
wings without any attend-shuns...
stan sand
The geese have migrated
taking many songbirds with them.
Some Canada Geese
have chosen to stay in the parking lots
by the busy shops, ensconced
within their un-feathered nests.
All day they direct the traffic,
attack cars if they come too near.
Night and day we Ohioans
try to ignore them,
but the geese
have fluffed up their goosy egos,
and will bar the way
of weary travelers
until they choose to waddle
disdainfully away.
Honk at them
and they honk back.
In Florida the songbirds
party-on
giving not a thought
to the still migrating,
still honking.
Like little birds that at last leave the nest,
so too do our own little birds fly away.
When life’s lessons have barely begun to be learned,
they fly away to gain new experiences
and insights of their own.
Some will build very small nests
and remain there without partners for many years.
Most will mate and through procreation,
they will create even bigger nests.
These days, even our own birdlings may choose
to stay in our nests much longer
than we might ever have anticipated.
If our birdlings leave, we are simply living again
in nests less crowded, as we had done
when we built our nest in the beginning!
Take it as a time to rejoice
in new activities, and worry not!
Many of us will see our “empty” nests
fill up again
as children of our children
flock back to us for sweet reunions.
Nests, after all, rarely stay empty.
May 16, 2023
for Cooper Etheridge's Empty Nest Poetry Contest
colorful birds enjoy their apartment in the sky
exotic island-like Rubenesque bubble nests
fowls in a variety of gorgeous colors, reposing
their plain round grass huts show them off well.
(a poem in 2 Senryus)
We carefully choose
bits of our lives that we then
weave into stories.
Like birds building nests,
making the safe places that
keep and define us.
Siamese
F i g h t i n g
Fish,
Bettas
B l o w
Bubbles.
10-31.2020
IN Just A Few Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Still mourning dove nests,
safety for tenuous eggs.
Calm dove births her spawn.
empty nesters watch
leaves skating on frozen ponds…
a soft sun beckons
©12/15/2019
Writing Challenge, December – Winter Haiku or Senryu
Sponsor, Dear Heart – Wiishkobi Ode
Interlacing strands of love
were woven with such warmth and care.
I felt secure in your presence,
united by trust in the unity of our shelter
strengthened by the fibre of our hearts.
But that was yesterday,
before the pruning of my emotions,
the crumbling of the fabric of my being
leaving me vulnerable,
exposed to your cruel camouflage of lies
and the violation of our space
by a parasitic presence.
Old nests are seldom reclaimed.
30.11.19
Last Year's Nests Poetry Contest sponsored by Craig Cornish
Tide out ...
Swells break far and creep slow,
sweeping tender 'cross washboard flats
where they used to dance -
where they lauded the ebullience of life
in purpose ... and pairs.
Beach ballerinas, flaunting perfect line ...
toothpick legs busy as Baryshnikov 'midst the billows,
leopard mantle still as stars
while they streaked and pattered forth-and-back,
never touching the hem of the combers.
Nature has no humor, they say ...
yet 'twas a game they played with the ocean's edge,
the sand they pranced was just as cold -
just as wet and wobbly and wild ...
it served no critical purpose to shun the wash in such diligence.
Yet they were masters of the art, and graceful,
as tho' it had been thus for eons ... and of course, it had.
That very game and dance is what I miss so dearly now,
tears disguised in the salt spray on my face,
as I pull another clump of plastic ...
From last year's nests.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Last Year's Nests" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
I viewed them the spring before – robins in our grass
and swallows flying circles around the front of the house.
Weeks later I spied their nests -
the swallows’ under an eave of our garage
and the robins’ hidden in a cluster
of our pear tree’s lovely green boughs.
I wish to have seen the eggs the robins surely laid,
but their nest was too high up.
The swallows’ nest intrigued me more,
for I was able to easily witness the hatchlings’ progress.
Periodically the parent birds came to feed them.
Eagerly I’d step off my porch when I saw the parents
swooping down and then soaring back to the sky.
Sometimes they whizzed close by my head as if to scold me
for my curiosity in their offspring; I was a trespasser on my own land.
Next year I will await them, but I think they will not return.
Always the robins return, but knowing swallows as I do. . .
their last year’s nest is sure to sit
lonely and unvisited.
Nov. 24, 2019 for Craig Cornish's "Last Year's Nests" Poetry Contest
(this actually happened several years ago, and the swallows never returned)
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